


rebound

by sovietghoststories (lucid_lies)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, Making Out, Post-Break Up, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21832558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucid_lies/pseuds/sovietghoststories
Summary: Tom and the reader reconnect with a rebound hookup at a party.
Relationships: Tom Holland (Actor)/Reader, Tom Holland/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 65





	rebound

“What an asshole.”

Standing beside you, your friend takes a swig of whatever’s in her cup, most likely some concoction that’s more hard liquor than not. At the taste, her pretty face scrunches up, mouth puckered, brows furrowed. 

“What weak ass shit is this?” she asks. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

Your beer bottle, still more than half full, hides the awkward, ill-fitting smile. You’ve been nursing your own drink for the last hour, the amber liquid far past room temperature in your clammy palm. The fizz, the musky flavour, the sour aftertaste turn your stomach.

“Ugh, whatevs.” She says. “Honestly, I never liked them anyway.”

Always trying to help, trying to provide a suitable distraction while you suffer breakup blues. She’s been glued to your side since you called her in tears hours ago even though you both know she’d much rather be off getting railed into next week.

She can’t help wandering eyes though and while you know, understand, appreciate and love her for being so ride or die, it’s driving you insane. Being cut off mid-conversation because she goes all space cadet while checking someone out got old 10 minutes in.

It’s like rubbing salt in an open wound, reminding you of how incredibly _unattached_ you suddenly find yourself. Honestly, without her ironclad persistence, you would currently be burrowed under several blankets, drowning your sorrows with junk food and sitcom reruns.

She forced you out of bed, into some relatively clean clothes. Whisked you away to this party like some type of fucked up fairy godmother slash free unlicensed therapist. But it’s doing little in terms of brightening your mood. And as much as she doesn’t mean to be, she’s a contributing factor.

Now you’re stuck here, enduring the ebbing waves of bitter loneliness until she wants to leave or decides to give up on getting you revenge laid as if everyone present isn’t a part of the same social circle, doesn’t know you just got dropped like a rock.

Side stepping, her posture blocks some of the attention. “Hey, you okay?” she asks softly. “Anything I can do?”

You hunch your shoulders, picking at the sweating label. “Listen, I get that you’re trying to help but I feel like shit. I dunno, I’m just - I’m not ready to vent. Not yet.”

Her contrite expression lasts for all of two seconds, quickly morphing into an one of pure evil, her smirk matching the devil may care gleam in her eye.

“Oh, no, no, no. Do not look at me like that.”

“Come on,” she wheedles. “You’re absolutely right, we shouldn’t be talking about shitty exes.” She points out someone from across the yard with her cup. “We should be talking about **Tom**.”

Currently leaning against the fence, Tom nurses a beer, looking like he waltzed off a glossy magazine cover. Sticking out like a sore thumb. Commanding all the attention.

Looking sharp from the cut of his shirt, flattering on his lean frame, to the tight fit of his jeans. His eyes, dark, hooded, deep and hungry, are the most noticeable, dragging over the planes of your face like the touch of his fingers.

_Oh, god._

You shove her hand down before she makes a bigger fool out of you in front of another ex. “What are you doing?” You hiss. “That’s so rude!” Not to mention embarrassing as fuck.

“Y’know,” she pauses, waggling her brows with a mischievous smile, “I bet Tom would be more than happy to remind you how rude he can be.”

You smother a groan in your hands. “I can’t believe you.“

“You know what I can’t believe?” She asks. “You!” She gestures towards him again. “Look at _**him,**_ like damn son.”

You take a sip of beer to give your hands something to do, nearly blanching at the warm liquid, refusing to look up. The topic of conversation watches like a hawk, gaze heavy.

How can he still make you weak-kneed after all this time? He wasn’t even touching you and you still feel his presence down to your toes, setting your teeth on edge. You hear your own heart beat, your breathing shaky, sparks of awareness dancing down your spine. Heat creeps into the apples of your cheeks. 

“Knock it off, I’m serious.”

“No, it’s about time you did something for yourself. Boy’s barely looked away from you since he got here. Come on, he’s practically screaming _let me fuck you_.”

“You mean he hasn’t looked away from **you** since he got here.”

Scoffing, she punches you in the arm.

The bite of her knuckles stings. Scowling, you lean away. “What the hell?”

“Shut the fuck up, you know it’s not my ass he wants to rail. If he was dtf, I’d climb him like a tree but you know what?” She asks rhetorically. “He’s never been interested in anyone but you even though the break up was forever ago.” 

You shift, perspiration breaking out on your brow. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“When will you give it up?” She blows a raspberry, shaking her head, hands thrown up dramatically exasperated. “I know you regret how it went down between you guys and now when you finally have a chance to make it right you just - just - ugh!”

It’s quiet for a beat.

“Plus, come on, Tom’s a whole ass meal.”

You should keep your mouth shut, really. She doesn’t need anymore encouragement but the retort slips out before you’re able to stop it, wishing you could grab it from the air as the words leave your lips.

“He’s a full course meal _and_ the midnight snack.”

“You cheeky little monkey.” Her mouth drops open, a peel of laughter punching its way out. “See, I knew you had it in you!” 

Shooting her a weak half smile and a shrug, you turn your attention to the small bonfire. It’s almost hypnotic in some primeval way; the flickers of the flames as they dance and ripple in the night reminiscent of cold, dark ages past.

Crackling wood and low conversation fills the lull. Years from now, you’ll look back on this snapshot of your life, mind soft with nostalgia, it’s echo followed on the changing of the leaves and the smell of petrichor in the morning.

For now, it’s a much needed moment of peace in entropy. Though you know it isn’t going to last. Not when you have a motormouth for a friend.

“So, what are you waiting for?”

“Sorry?”

She nods towards Tom, finally busy with his own conversation, subtly this time. “When you gonna hop on that dick?”

“Oh my god!”

She shrugs. "What.”

“Seriously.”

A bony elbow digs between your ribs. “Come on,” she says, “You already know it’s good with him. Easy as pie.”

She’s not wrong…

It’s been so long since you’ve been with him like that, the edges of memories soft and blurred but he always did his best to make sure you knew you were cared for, wanted. Concepts that seem so far away right now. 

Considering, you peek at him from beneath your lashes. Somehow, someway, he feels you looking because he pauses mid-sentence, turning to meet you head on. He traces your face with what can only be called greed, stopping short when they catch on the lip trapped between your teeth.

Something akin to hunger cuts across his face, his brows dipped low, a palpable heat flooding the inky depths of his eyes. Shadows deepen the lines of his face, the shifting firelight highlighting the flex of a jawline for days, burning golden in his hair.

It’s a look you’re intimately familiar with. Usually preceding a hand shaking, mind numbing fuck session where his cock gets as deep as it can, rutting hard and fast, bringing you over the edge again and again until you’re left a wrecked mess. 

Your heart jumps, gallops headlong into a rapid beat. You feel every rush of blood in your chest, every breath stuttered, stomach lurching. Shaking. Jittery. Tongue tied in a thousand knots and you haven’t even said a word.

It was much easier to pretend that you weren’t so magnetically drawn to Tom when you weren’t riding the single’s train. Now his presence sears you to the bone. And that?

_So not good._

Swallowing roughly, you tear your attention away. You’d forgotten how intense and blindly bright he can be. “I don’t know…”

“This’ll be good for you; maybe it’ll even help you forget about – ” she catches herself before she says their name, continuing after the slightest hesitation, “about that jackass.”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” you say. “I’ll…think about it, okay?”

“What’s there to think about?” She asks. “He’s gorgeous!”

“I own a working set of eyes, I’ve seen him naked, I _know_.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t just live a little.”

“It’s complicated okay?” You huff, blowing a stray piece of hair off your forehead. “I’m not in a good place right now. I don’t see how fucking him is gonna help.”

The first signs of irritation finally show themselves on her features, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. “How are earth shattering, mind-blowing orgasms not helpful?”

“You are so gross.”

“You love me. Now go get fucked into next week!”

Shaking your head, you toss the rest of your beer away. The throb in your temples threatens a headache, sharp little darts of pain lancing through your skull. If you don’t get some air that doesn’t taste like wood-smoke and cheap alcohol, you’ll be paying for it for the rest of the night. 

“Mhm, okay, yeah I’ll go do that.” You snort when she gives you a thumbs up. “I’m gonna head inside. Need to get away for a bit.”

Nearly everyone’s outside so it should be less crowded, more quiet. Most importantly, away from Tom and that penetrating stare which makes you more flustered than you care to admit.

She lets you go without too much fuss, making you promise to keep in contact in case of any change in plans. Not likely but you don’t tell her that, already having had enough of her pep talks.

The kitchen is blessedly empty though not for long.

You’re lounging against the counter, elbows bent, head rolled back, eyes closed when the back door creaks open. Biting off a groan, you swivel your head to the side.

When you see it’s Tom who followed you in, you almost slip and brain yourself on the tile. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, heart beating out of control, scrambling into a more flattering posture while patting down your hair. 

He chuckles, his nose scrunched and smile coy.

Seeing him happy always makes you tender, weak. It seems that hasn’t changed a bit. No amount of pictures or FaceTime videos do it justice. Granted, Tom looks good any time, any day but seeing his whole face light up like that in person?

Utterly priceless.

It’s a struggle to breathe properly around the lump forming in your throat. Of course, it has to be him. Wiping your palms off on your thighs, you greet him with an awkward wave, “Uhhh, hey - hey there, Tom.”

_Oh my god could you be anymore lame? Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission._

“Y’know what,” you say, “I was just about to head back outside…”

As you pass by, he catches your arm. Long fingers curl around your wrist, callouses dragging across your pulse. Your gut clenches, an unexpected bloom of warmth shooting through your core at the sight of his broad palm holding you captive. His grip is firm but loose enough that you could pull away.

All it serves to do is remind you of nights spent beneath his body, the slide of sweat slick skin, the taste of him heavy on your tongue, pussy filled to the brim with cock, his accented voice music to your ears, prideful as he gloats about how well you’re taking him.

"Leaving so soon, love?” He asks silkily.

A hard tug sends you slamming into the wall of his chest. The air rushes from your lungs, your hands trapped against his collarbones. The firm muscles contract beneath your palms, his body shoving into your touch.

Fingers twisting in the soft cotton of his shirt, you look up at him from beneath your lashes, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Tom…”

His dark eyes, the colour of a rich espresso, track the path of your tongue as you wet your lips. Fingers drag over the soft line of your neck, tracing your fluttering pulse, touch feather light as it stops by the corner of your mouth, pressing down on the swell of your lip.

“I haven’t said hello yet.”

Eyes wide, all you do is watch, wait with baited breath. Stunned into silence at his proximity. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close, the smell of his expensive cologne nostalgic, but your body recognizes his, responding all the same. The connection between you electric, overwhelmingly so.

His head bows, chocolate curls brushing your forehead. The tip of his nose rubs yours. You get lost in counting all the new freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks.

You’re surrounded by him, the urge to resist what’s happening nearly non-existent even though you wish it wasn’t so easy to be caught by him.

“One of the lads said something interesting,” he says, his breath ghosting across your face; mint and beer. “It was about you actually.” He flashes the smile that sends your heart soaring, your stomach flipping.

The slightest peek of a metal chain resting in the crook of his neck, surrounded by a very tempting patch of skin you want to taste, has you a little dumbfounded, absentminded.

“Oh?”

You really hope you don’t sound as frazzled as you feel but the haughty superiority of his slow appraisal of your body, the cocksure smirk on his lips state otherwise. You really wish you could knock him down a peg but confidence looks amazing on him.

“Said you finally got rid of the div.” 

Tom closes the remaining inches without waiting for a response, his dark head tilting to the side as he slots your mouths together in a kiss that’s got your toes curling. A filthy wet slide of lips, his the slightest bit chapped, send you under, liquid warmth filling your belly.

You inhale sharply, a moan vibrating against his lips, melting into the cage of his arms. His hands clamp down on your hips possessively, tugging you closer. Pressed stem to stern like this there’s no hiding the evidence of his desire. He’s already half-hard in his jeans, his erection pressing against the zipper.

His eyes are hooded when he pulls away. “Shall we take this somewhere a little more private, Darling?” Tom asks, running his nose the length of your neck and inhaling, hips rocking forward against you so there’s no mistaking what you’re dealing with. “It’ll be just like old times.”

_How is this my life,_ you think, dazed.

After an awkward fumble and an elbow to the side, you settle on the downstairs bathroom. He follows, quickly pinning you to the door. With a flick of the lock, you’re finally alone without any possible interruption. The door muffles most of the ruckus outside, leaving you hyper aware of every hurried breath, every accented murmur.

For a long while it’s nothing but a mess of lips, his body moulding to yours, easy to fall back into the old rhythms of your relationship. He holds you down. His fingers in your hair, on your jaw. His tongue glides over your lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it slide back out through his teeth.

You meet him kiss for kiss, your hands finding their way into his back pockets, tugging, groping, loving how he bucks up into the cradle of your hips in response. A sweet ache settles low and deep.

“Tom,” you sigh. “Fuck, I forgot how much you like to tease.”

His thumb circles your nipple, teased into a sensitive, stiff peak. The caress sends soft pulses straight to your clit, the intensity getting stronger and stronger the rougher he is. Before long, you’re aware of how achingly empty you are.

Tom nips the corner of your jaw.

“Never forget how much I like to tease you,” he murmurs into the silk of your skin. “How wet you get for me.”

“Shit, you can’t just say something like that.”

“Can’t I?” His laugh, genuine and vibrant, sounds through his chest and into yours. “You can bitch all you want, but I know you love it.”

A smile, all teeth.

“Isn’t that right, love?”

You glare at him weakly through half lidded eyes.

Two can play that game.

“Fucking hell!” Tom bites out, those impossibly dark eyes sliding shut when you reach down to palm him through his jeans. His breath whooshes from him in a loud exhale, his jaw working back and forth. “That’s cheating.”

You smirk, feeling him throb in your hand.

”What were you saying, Tom?” Humming, you rub your chest against his, using a fingertip to trace the outline of his shaft. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Spearing you with a weighted look, Tom shoves you back into the door harder than before, the wood creaking under the pressure. Fist resting on the frame next to your head, his body cages you in.

Every shuddered inhale has the planes of his firm chest pressing into yours with the expansion of his lungs. His hips buck up into the softness of your palm with a grunt.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, pretty girl,” he cautions.

Competitiveness is a gift and a curse.

Not one to be outdone, you brush away any lingering reservations - which being honest, there weren’t many left. His relieved groan when you tug him out reverberates through you.

_Shit that’s so unfair._

Tom already sounds wrecked yet you’ve barely touched him. How the fuck are you going to get through this without completely combusting when he actually cums? Thinking that maybe focusing on what you’re doing will help, you look down.

Big fucking mistake.

Dark wash designer jeans circle his thighs, low enough for his cock to spring free. Flushed, curved towards his belly, the head swollen and wet with precum. The shaft a decent handful that pulses when your palm skims the side.

Feminine appreciation at the sight has velvet heat pooling between your thighs, pussy clenching at the thought of him inside you. Sex with him was always stupidly good. You haven’t been with anyone that came close to his level of attentiveness and skill in getting you off. He’s ruined you. 

His face burrows into the crook of your neck with a low groan. His breath puffing across your skin, shivers racing down your spine. His low voice full of grit, he says, “Shit, Darling, that feels…”

Hot palms anchor themselves to your hips.

“Wait a sec,” he says, body twitching with aborted thrusts, strong fingers kneading. “Wanna do you too.”

Heart jumping, you let go of him long enough to pull down your own pants before returning your hand to his cock. In the meantime, he rucks his shirt up under his armpits. You can’t help but make a noise in the back of your throat as the length of his torso is exposed.

All that smooth skin stretches over his abs as he flexes. You have to fight down the urge to run your tongue along the freckles dotting his hip. 

Mouth slack, Tom watches the subtle sway of your tits, laser-focused on the image you present. His hips start fucking up into the circle of your hand. One of his own inches down to brush the crease of your thigh. Your hips tilt towards his touch, desperate for friction.

“Oh god.” He moans, calloused fingers dipping between your folds. “You’re so wet for me.”

You wiggle, whining against his lips as you meet in a messy kiss. His touch is light, gentle, barely there as he traces the length of your slit. You’re trembling, skin too tight, body feverish.

“Stop teasing, I want you inside me.”

Those seem to be the magic words because Tom gives a rumble of approval, using his thumb to spread slick over your swollen clit in tight circles. Heat coils in your belly, electricity racing down your spine. Your thighs splay as wide as they can, making room for his hand. His knuckles brush your skin.

Dipping down to your entrance, Tom works on spreading you open with shallow thrusts until you take three fingers comfortably. Your needy sighs and soft moans bounce off the walls. His low murmurs right in your ear as the pads stroke your walls, his wrist flexing. He’s hitting all the right spots, still remembering how to get you off years after the fact.

You’re quickly turning weak-kneed and wet eyed.

“Fuck, Tom, right there,” you keen, baring down on the digits nudging your g-spot, your grip tightening around his shaft.

You grind your palm over the swollen tip, gathering beads of precum. He hisses, thrusts off beat. His fingers nudge up suddenly, pressing deep and holding in retaliation. White lightening crackles behind your eyelids, thighs twitching, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah, just like that, pretty girl.”

Your world narrows down to every filthy slide of his cock in your hand, every gush of slick as he stuffs fingers into you over and over again until you’re a writhing mess against the door. Your nerve endings are alive with pleasure, the stimulation too much and not enough.

“Please, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, doubling his efforts, wrist working faster.

Dapples of sweat litter his brow, his eyes staring into yours, glazed over and lusting. Fuck, he’s handsome like this. It’s a little embarrassing how bad he’s got you but between the blissed out expression he’s wearing, the weight of him in your hand, and how full you are, you know this orgasm is going to be quick, messy.

The pace of his hips pick up, his breath hitching in his throat, length twitching and thickening in your grip. He’s getting close, his touch rougher, more force behind the snapping thrusts of his hips, teeth nipping at the side of your neck.

“Come on, Tom.” You say, breathless, twisting your hand on the upstroke. He smothers a grunt in your shoulder. “Give it to me.”

It doesn’t take much more to bring him to the edge.

A particular spread of his fingers has you jolting, a sudden, intense spike of pleasure shooting right to your clit. In turn, you unintentionally massage his cock, knuckles bumping the underside of the head.

He’s a goner.

Cumming with a low, wounded whine and a shuttered thrust, Tom smacks the door with his free hand. Thick spurts of jizz make an absolute mess of his stomach and your knuckles.

Sagging forward like a doll with cut strings, all his dead weight bears down on you.

He pants, small tremors wrack his frame. “Darling,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Tom,” you reply, using nice, languid strokes to wring the last of his orgasm out of him. Your own takes a backseat, the burning need in the background, your heart bursting with warmth. “More than I thought I did.”

In lieu of a response, Tom wiggles his fingers inside you, rebuilding the rhythm he lost. He flutters them, curls up against your walls, peppering kisses along the length of your jaw with a hum.

Slick drips down his wrist, the sloppy sound of him finger fucking your cunt blending with a surge of desperate moans.

“Yeah, that’s right, love,” Tom says against your chin. “So fucking hot, wanna see you cum.”

Your back arches, your fingers digging into the width of his shoulders, head smacking the door with a dull thud.

“Can you do that for me?”

Nodding frantically, you fall apart with a broken gasp. Clamping down so hard he can’t move, the cramps softened by the throbbing heat washing over you. Blood rushes in your ears, gushing around his fingers.

“Good girl,” he praises, tone heated. “You did so well for me.”


End file.
